Snake Charmer
by lolgurl
Summary: Draco learns that, maybe, Mudbloods aren't so bad after all fail summary right thar
1. King's Cross

SNAKE CHARMING – FANFIC by lolgurl  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yeah, bear with me, this WILL become a Hr/D fanfic, just let me get there. : )

PS: I DO NOT OWN DAZ HARRY POTTERZ. D; Sadly.

_CHAPTER ONE_: King's Cross

End of summer vacation, and the sky was a faded denim-blue, the grass crisp with frost. Black birds hopped across the pavement outside King's Cross, and an alley cat prowled watchfully near some rusty old trash bins, its gold-green eyes flickering restlessly towards the birds.

A long, glossy black limousine pulled up to the curb, the hustle and bustle of the train station reflected in its tinted windows. The alley cat paused, stomach low to the ground as it watched the car, its tail swinging like a pendulum. A man leapt out from the driver's seat, and rushed to the passenger back door. Before he could get there in time to open it, however, it flew open on its own, nearly smacking the chauffer in the legs. As the black birds swept into the air with a chorus of loud twittering, the man scrambled away just in time, and saved himself bruised kneecaps. He bowed politely, one hand touching the brim of his chauffer's hat, and held out an arm towards the station.

From out of the back of the limo slid a young man, his white-blonde hair short and slicked back. He ducked out of the vehicle, into the wan sunlight, and squinted at the nearly empty square. His pale grey eyes hesitated on the alley cat, then moved on, taking in the cobblestone square. He watched the black birds flutter as one farther into the sky, and his hands slipped down, his thumbs hooking onto his pockets. Behind him, a tall, pale man, with long hair the same colour as the boy's, stepped from the limo, his expression one of distaste. He stared at the few people bustling past, his eyebrows arched and angry.

"Filthy Muggles," he muttered, and, reaching back into the limo, pulled out a black walking stick. Topped with a piece of metal fashioned into the shape of a snake's head, it gleamed. He tucked it under the black robes he wore, and looked down at the boy, who could only be his son. "Well, Draco—shall we?" he gestured towards the platform, and the boy—Draco—nodded. They set off towards the entrance to the station. Their nearly white hair was conspicuous in the sparse crowd as they made their way past the people hurrying to and fro. Behind them, their driver rushed to load a trolley with a dourly staring owl and a large trunk. He locked the limo and wheeled after them.

As they walked into the station, Draco pulled slightly at the collar of his black, uniform-like suit. It was warmer inside, and he was beginning to sweat. He wiped at his brow, casting a shifty glance towards his father, hoping he had not noticed. The man—still wearing that vague look of disdain on his long, pointed face—wasn't even looking at him. Draco sighed, somewhat relieved, and glanced around the station as the chauffer pulled up behind them with the trolley.

Mixed amid the milling people—ordinary, everyday Muggle-types—were a few odd-looking individuals or groups. Many pushed trolleys like the one Draco's driver gripped; some dragged enormous trunks; other held toads, rats, cats, or walked with owls swaying on their shoulders. They received some stares, but most chose to just ignore them. There were weirdoes everywhere; why pay attention to any certain bunch?

Still scanning the station, Draco paused, his eyes locking on a large group entering the building. Several redheads walked into the station, four of them pushing trolleys loaded with trunks and cages and bags. Draco squinted, making out a head of unruly black hair among all the orange. A tall boy with glasses and the look of the underfed walked slowly with one of the taller redheads, a boy with freckles splattered like paint across his cheeks and nose. They were bent slightly, and he saw their lips moving rapidly as they spoke. The others around them seemed oblivious; two identical redheads were laughing and pulling at the hair of the girl in front of them, obviously a younger sister. The portly woman with them looked over her shoulder at them, and snapped something that Draco couldn't hear. This erupted into a loud, heated argument between the twins and their mother, the girl adding her voice halfway through. They were so loud, he could hear them from where he stood.

"FRED AND GEORGE! IF YOU TWO DON'T START ACTING YOUR AGES, GOD HELP ME, I'M GOING TO TELL DUMBLEDORE TO BREAK YOUR WANDS AND EXPELL YOU! IF YOU THINK FOR EVEN A _SECOND_," she paused in mid-rant to heave a sharp breath, then steamed on, blatantly ignoring the twins' attempts at interruption. "—THAT I AM GOING TO PUT UP WITH WHAT I DID LAST YEAR, ALL THE LETTERS AND COMPLAINTS AND HOWLERS, THEN YOU ARE _SADLY_ MISTAKEN! NOW USE THOSE BRAINS I _KNOW _YOU HAVE, AND _BEHAVE YOURSELVES FOR ONCE!!" _

Throughout the explosion, the freckled boy and the black-haired boy did not look up from their conversation. They continued to speak rapidly and quietly, looking almost furtive. However, all around the station, people were turning and staring, eyes wide and mouths open. Everyone liked a little drama, but some of the things the woman had said sat with them rather oddly. _'Wands'? 'Howlers'? _And who was '_Dumbledore'? _

A tall, slightly balding redheaded man laid a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Molly," he said. "Molly, calm down. People are staring." She cast a look around the station, reddened slightly, then nodded. She shot the twins a look of death, and straightened her fly away hair.

Behind him, Draco heard someone whisper: "What a terrible thing to do, embarrass your children like that in public." He turned to look over his shoulder at a middle-aged Muggle couple just as the man replied to the woman's statement with: "They're obviously weirdoes—just ignore them."

"Yes, but…" the woman was talking to herself now; her male companion had wandered over to a wall of maps. "…who the hell is _Dumbledore? _What sort of name is _that?" _

Turning back towards the redheaded family, Draco smirked. Weirdoes was right. Damn Weasleys; blood traitors, the whole lot of them. He scowled, and glanced up to this father. He was glancing at a gold pocket watch. Seeing Draco looking at him, he tucked it back into his robes. After catching his son's eye, he looked towards the commotion. His gaze settling on the Weasleys, his upper lip curled.

"Oh, how wonderful," he said drily, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "The riff-raff has arrived." He caught his son's eye again. "Well, Draco? Shall we go over and say hello?" his voice was cutting and derisive as he swept his robes closer around him. "It would be the _polite_ thing to do." And he sneered.

Draco smirked. "Yes, of course Father." Smiling coldly, his father led the way towards the pack of redheads, Draco at his side. The boy tugged his suit into neatness, ran a hand quickly over his slicked hair, and fixed an arrogant sneer onto his face.

"Ah, Arthur Weasley," his father began, addressing the balding redheaded man. "How very… _nice _to see you." He sneered emphasis on the word 'nice', making it harsh and sarcastic. The man looked up. He resembled a rather scruffy scarecrow in a patched grey-green corduroy jacket. Upon seeing Draco's father, Mr. Weasley's expression darkened with dour dislike.

"Oh, Lucius. Yes—hello." He said stiffly, and his eyes rested briefly on Draco, who mimicked the sneer twisting his father's face, and looked back at Lucius. The two men stared at each other for a long moment, gold grey eyes meeting green, then Arthur turned away, to his wife. "Molly—we should get them moving now." He glanced at the man and boy in front of him, his eyes wondering. Lucius' mouth twisted.

"Oh, by all means, Arthur—please, do go ahead." He gestured with the same derisive curl of his lips. "For once in your sorry life—do go first."

Mr. Weasley's face burned red. He took a deep breath, looked like he would speak, then thought better and clamped it shut. Turning abruptly, he waved at the twins. "Fred, George—you first. Go on."

The redheaded twins—Draco could never tell them apart, and, frankly, who cared?—stepped forward, each pushing a trolley. Their identical eyes settled on Draco, narrowed, then they moved past him, the nearest almost bumping Lucius with his cart. Draco's father stepped back with a sneer, and he and his son watched them run towards the pillar separating platform's nine and ten. In a blink, a crowd of Muggles walked past, and the twin boys were gone. Draco, raising an eyebrow, looked back at the remaining Weasleys. Still in the middle, heads bent together, the two boys from earlier were still talking rapidly. He strained his ears, trying to hear what they were saying, but their voices were too low for him to make out. Scowling, he watched Mrs. Weasley gesture to the redheaded girl at her side.

"Go on, Ginny." She said. "Your turn next." The girl nodded, and, pushing her cart ahead of her, she ran towards the barrier. She disappeared through it, and now Mrs. Weasley was turning towards the two boys.

"Harry, Ron; you now." They continued to talk, not hearing her. She frowned. Taking hold of the redhead's trunk, she shook it until he jumped and looked at her.

"Whatever you two are talking about, it can wait until you're on the train. Now—go! Quickly, now, before it leaves!" They nodded, and, side-by-side, entered the barrier together. Draco watched them vanish through brick wall, then nodded over his shoulder at their driver. The man sighed, then wheeled the trolley across the station, and through the barrier after the two boys.

Lucius cast Mr. and Mrs. Weasley one last sneer, then waved Draco on. His son straightened his clothes and walked towards the barrier. He passed through easily, and walked over to where the driver was loading his trunk and belongings onto the train. He nodded at the man, then jumped up into the train. Wheeling the trolley down the walkway, he glanced out the windows. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were there, waving at their children, and at the black-haired boy, who was cleaning a pair of round glasses on his shirt. Draco sneered, ignoring the desire to search the crowd for his own father, who he know would not be there.

Dragging his trolley down the hall a bit farther, he paused, hearing voices.

"Yeah, my dad said that they thought the reason she was targeted wasn't just because her parents, but because they think she might be—" a girl squeezed past Draco, the owl she carried hooting loudly, drowning out the rest of the sentence. He glared at her, and she gave him a dirty look before moving into one of the compartments and closing the door behind her. Scowling, Draco listened again.

"…well, mum was all for sending us to bed after that, but then dad convinced her to calm down. Thank God for _that,_ at least." There was a pause, then a slightly deeper voice spoke.

"Wow, that's strange. I wonder why she wouldn't let you hear the reasons. I mean, she's _our _friend." There was the sound of scuffling, like trunks being stored in luggage racks, then the same voice spoke again. "That sounds way more exciting than my summer."

"Oh, yeah?" said the first voice. "What'd you do before you came to the Burrow?" there was the sound of ripping plastic, and when the boy next spoke, it seemed through a mouthful of cake. "Imeen, canphm behto fufwif pighboih, canpheeif?"

"What? S_wallow,_ Ron_._ I can't understand you like that."

"Oh, phworry," there was another pause. "I mean, sorry. I meant to say, it can't be that fun with pig boy, can it?" There was a laugh.

"Dudley? No, no—there's not." Draco heard a sigh. "I spent the summer lying in flowerbeds and hiding from Dudley's—or _Big D's_—" there was a snort. "—gang of beef heads." Another sigh. "Not much fun—but I did get a lot of exercise, I'll admit."

"Blimey," said the voice that belonged to Ron. "Little git."

"'Little' has got noting to do with Dudley." Replied the second voice. They broke off in laughter.

Draco's lip curled. He'd heard enough to realize that these two dunderheads were the same as they had been before summer ended. Giving his trunk a jerk, he dragged it forwards, stopping this time in front of a compartment holding two boys. Sprawled out on either side of the bench, they were bartering Chocolate Frog Cards and daring each other to eat certain Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. The black haired boy thrust a green-grey one at the redhead, who popped it into his mouth, then pulled a horrible face and cringed.

"Ugh—tastes like gum from the sidewalk!" he groaned. The black-haired boy grinned.

"And you'd know what that would taste like, huh?"

The redhead rolled his eyes. "Shut _up_, Harry." He threw a handful of Every Flavour Beans at the boy, and they began yelling and tossing junk food at one another.

Rolling his eyes as well, Draco decided to announce his presence then.

"Well, Weasley—I don't know why you're complaining. Must be better than the usual slop your family probably eats. Or can you even afford _that_?" he smirked when Ron spun around, his face in mid-chew. Behind him, the black-haired boy sat up and straightened his glasses. He pushed a Pumpkin Pasty off his chest, brushed crumbs out of his lap, and glared at Draco.

"Shut up, Malfoy." He said, and his green eyes narrowed. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, going to tell me what to do, are you, _Potter?_" he spat the last word at them. "Think you're better than me, huh? Think you're better than _everyone_, don't you?" he screwed up his face in a pitiful expression, and his voice rose slightly. "Ooooooh, lookit me, I'm Harry Potter, and I'm so much more important than everyone else, because I'm the _'Chosen One', _I'm the best at _everything,_ oh, lookit me, lookit me, I love attention." He sneered, his voice returning to normal. "'Perfect little Potter'." He made a scoffing noise. "Can't believe everyone's so blind about you. 'Chosen One' indeed."

"Malfoy, you—" Ron was standing, his wand in hand. Jelly beans fell from his pockets, and there was chocolate smeared across his nose. Draco looked at him with a disgusted expression.

"Sure you want to do that, Weasley?" he said offhandedly, gesturing at the wand the boy held in his hand. "Sure you can _afford _it?" Ron's ears burned a dark red. Smirking, Draco waved a hand. "I'll see you later—_Potter._" And, turning, he dragged his trunk down the hallway. Behind him, he heard Ron yell:

"Not _bloody _likely, Malfoy! Sod off, you great git!" The door to the compartment slid shut with a bang as Ron slammed it closed. Draco smirked, and wheeled his trunk into the section where most of the Slytherins sat. He stowed his belongings in the baggage holder overhead, and sank into a seat. Propping his elbow up on the compartment table, he rested his chin on his hand and stared out the window.

What had they been talking about when he had been listening in? It sounded like someone had been hurt or attacked or kidnapped or something. They'd said 'targeted'; and it was a girl or a woman, this person. But who?

Draco snorted, closing his eyes for a brief second and screwing up his face. He was too curious. It was probably one of their stupid blood-traitor friends. Opening his eyes again, he turned and looked around the compartment.

Larger than the one in which Potter and Weasley sat, it was filled with several of his Slytherin housemates, and more were arriving. He watched them storing pets and trunks, and dropping into seats. A few were already in their school robes, silver and green badges winking on their chests. All around, the S emblem of his house gleamed at him, and he felt reassured. Here was something that he understood. Something he didn't have to think about. Here, he was Prince.

The door closest to him slid open, and a tall black boy entered. He saw Draco, and made a beeline straight for him. Dropping into the seat across the table from the grey-eyed boy with the slicked-back hair, he rubbed his eyes.

"Hey, Draco." He said. Draco nodded.

"Blaise." He replied, and looked back out the window again. The compartment door slid open again, and a pug-faced girl and a tall, bulky boy entered together. They walked over to Blaise and Draco, and the black boy scooted over. The girl plopped down beside him, while the stocky-built boy leaned against the bench Draco sat in, and folded his arms across his chest.

"_Hiiiii, _Draco," the girl said in a giggly voice, drawing out the word 'hi' in a long, dragging sound. Draco twitched, then nodded.

"Pansy." He acknowledged, and she giggled annoyingly. Draco glanced at the boy leaning against the seats. "Montague." The boy—captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, for which Draco played Seeker—grunted.

After a moment of silence, while Montague and Pansy settled their things, Blaise turned to Draco.

"Hey—I just saw Potter and Weasley." He began, keeping his voice pitched low as he watched Pansy jump up and down in an effort to hoist her trunk into the baggage rack. Draco turned his chin in his hand until he was looking at Blaise, his expression bored and distant.

"Yeah?" he said, uninterestedly. Blaise raised an eyebrow.

"Well, hey, just wonderin'—aren't there usually three of them?"

Draco frowned, and looked out the window. "How the bloody hell would I know, Zabini? Those two—or three, or whatever—can fall off the train for all I care." Blaise let out a soft laugh.

"Yeah, well, I just thought, you know, where's the Mudblood? You know, that chick with the crazy hair and the buck teeth. Bitchy; thinks she knows everything?"

Draco leaned back, holding his arms out in front of him as he stretched. "Oh, yeah—Granger." His face twisted. "Filthy Mudblood." Relaxing, he shrugged. "I don't know where she is. I don't care, really. Maybe she went and got herself killed. Walked right off a cliff with her nose in a book, or something. Wouldn't be surprised if… if that…" he paused, a look of realization dawning upon his face. "…was it." He finished, then frowned at the table. Blaise was looking out the window now, and didn't notice.

"Yeah, probably." He laughed, then stood up. "Pansy, give me your friggin' trunk—you're gonna drop it on our heads and kill us all." He helped her slide the heavy suitcase into the rack, making a face. "Jesus, what'd you pack—bloody rocks? You bring the whole house in here?"

Pansy shrieked with laughter. "You're so funny, Blaise!" she exclaimed. "Draco, isn't Blaise funny?" she asked, looking at him.

"Yeah," Draco mumbled absently. "Yeah, he's hilarious. Sure. Whatever—yeah…" But he wasn't paying attention. His face screwed up, and his eye vacant, he stared into space, thinking.

They'd said someone had been targeted… a girl. Could it have been Granger, that filthy Mudblood with hair like a bird's nest? Targeted by _whom,_ though? If it was Death Eaters, it would be easy to understand; she was a _Mudblood,_ after all. But they were supposed to be hanging low, that's what his father had said, he'd heard him talking to his mother about it…

"Draaaccooo?" Pansy was waving her hand in front of his face. "Helloooo, anyone in there?"

Draco blinked, and sat back, away from the waving hand. He glared. "Yeah, I'm bloody well here. Leave me alone, Pansy." She almost looked hurt, then she scowled.

"Well, _sorrryyyy _for giving a shit!" and she promptly turned away. "_I'm _going to go buy treats from the trolley, and _you _can buy your _own_, Draco!" she exclaimed, and flounced away. Draco rolled his eyes.

"What an idiot." He mumbled. Blaise nodded, relaxing back into his seat.

"Drama Queen." He added. Montague seemed to come to life for a second; he turned and slid into the seat beside Draco, then folded his arms across his chest again and fell still. He grunted at Blaise in agreement. The black boy rubbed his eyes again.

"Tired, Zabini?" Draco asked. He was already feeling bored, and frustrated that he didn't know what was going on with Potter and Weasley and all this 'targeting' business. He didn't like not knowing things. He tried to distract himself with meaningless conversation.

Across from him, Blaise nodded. "Yeah. My dad scored tickets to a Quidditch game. Chudley Cannons versus Bulgaria. Chudley got _creamed_." He yawned suddenly. "Yeah—long trip, you know, all that." Draco shrugged.

"Not surprising Chudley lost. They _do _suck. And Bulgaria, they're one of the best." Beside him, Montague nodded. He opened his mouth and spoke at last.

"They got that Krum for their Seeker, too." His voice was low and rumbling. "Damn good player, that bloke." He looked sideways at Draco, but didn't say what the blonde-haired boy knew he was thinking; thanks to Potter, Draco had never managed to catch the Snitch since joining the team, costing Slytherin game after game. He glared at Montague, but the enormously built captain was staring at the table with his usual dull expression. Draco knew that there were brains inside that thick skull, but looks certainly were deceiving.

Suddenly, Draco stood up. "I'm going for a walk." He said. Blaise waved a hand, and slid over to let Pansy sit down as she returned. She dumped an armful of junk food on the table, and looked at Draco with something like confusion when she saw that he was standing.

"I got you something anyways, Drakie." She cooed. "You should thank me." She added, and pushed a handful of Cauldron Cakes towards him. Draco looked at them, and his stomach suddenly turned.

"I'm not hungry." He mumbled, and clambered over Montague to get out of the seats. Pansy stood up, barring his way, and pouted.

"But, _Drakkieee,_" she whined, holding out a cake. "I bought them just for _you!" _Draco snatched it out of her hand, then pushed her aside, stumbling past. "Drakie!" she exclaimed.

"Don't call me that." He muttered, and bolted from the compartment. Throwing the door shut behind him, he muffled Pansy's voice. Ripping open the package in his hand, he crammed the cake into his mouth, chewing through a lump. He paused, tasting something definitely wrong with the food. Suddenly, his head swam, and he dropped the cake, staggering down the hall. His hand pressed to his stomach, and he could feel cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. Eyes closing, he stumbled against the wall, gagged, then threw up in the corridor. He groaned, then retched again, vomiting on the wall and the floor. The gagging finally stopped, and he propped himself against the wall, one arm wrapped tightly around his stomach. He stood there for what seemed hours, until he heard a voice.

"_Malfoy?_"

He jerked, and looked up, his eyes wide. Standing in front of him was Ron Weasley. Over his shoulder, Draco could see the open door of the compartment, and Harry looking around the corner at him, along with Neville Longbottom and the redheaded Weasley girl, Ron's sister. They stared.

"Um," began Ron. "Are you—you look like—well, you kinda…" he paused, and ran a hand through his red hair. "You threw up all over the corridor."

Draco stared at him. What a stupid and obvious thing to say; like he hadn't noticed, having been the one to puke everywhere in the first place.

"Aren't _you _observant, Weasley." Draco choked, his face going pale with embarrassment, then green as another wave of nausea hit him. He winced, waiting for it to pass, then said; "Planning on becoming a detective, are you?"

Ron's ears turned red.

"Come off it, Malfoy!" he suddenly yelled. "You're such a—" but he never did say exactly what Malfoy was, because, at that moment, Draco bent over and threw up again, this time right at Ron's feet. He leapt backwards, looking disgusted.

Draco clutched at his stomach; what was _happening _to him? He'd been feeling fine earlier…

"Oh, that's just—" Ron was mumbling, wiping his feet on the carpeted floor. "Disgusting," he looked at Draco. "You did that on _purpose,_ you bloody bastard!" he said angrily. "All over my shoes, and my robes…"

"It's… an improvement." Draco gasped out, holding a hand over his mouth as his stomach gurgled. In front of him, Ron's eyes flashed, and he whipped out his wand for the second time that morning.

"You're gonna regret—" he began, but a voice cut him off.

"Ron! What are you doing!"

Everyone froze as a girl with bushy brown hair entered the hall, a book tucked under her arm. She paused, taking in the scene. Draco peered at her from around Ron's legs, his face tinted a definite green. She looked at the sick on the floor, and covering Ron's shoes and the bottom of his robes. Her eyes came to rest on Draco, and they widened.

"Hermione!" Ron said, whipping around. "Malfoy threw up everywhere—and _on me!"_ he glared at Draco again. "Bloody git, he did it on purpose!" Half of Draco's mouth twisted up into a sneer.

"Don't flatter—yourself, Weasley." He shot back, then groaned and sagged against the wall. His eyes closed, his body jerked, and he vomited again. Ron jumped back this time, well out of way of the throw-up. There was silence, with only the sound of Draco being sick, then someone let out an exasperated sigh.

"Honestly, you boys…" there were footsteps, then someone was standing beside him, their hands pushing back his sweaty hair, now hanging in his face. Draco finally stopped retching, and his legs began to buckle, but someone hooked their arms under his and hoisted him up.

"Help?" they said. "He's kind of heavy—for God sakes, Ron, _get_ _over here!_"

But the redhead was hanging back, eyeing the blonde-haired boy warily. It was a clean pair of shoes that approached as Draco cracked open his eyes. A second pair of arms wrapped around him, holding him up.

"Oh, this mess, I'd better get rid of it," a voice muttered near his ear, and, with a swish of her wand, the sick disappeared, leaving the floor (and Ron's shoes and robes) clean and spotless as before.

"Uh, Hermione?" said another voice behind him. Draco shut his eyes again, groaning as he recognized Harry Potter as the speaker.

"_Potter,_" he seethed, but the boy ignored him.

"What do we do with him?" Harry asked the other person trying to hold Draco up, who he now realized to be Hermione.

"Here—let's just… ok, bring him into the compartment, for now." She replied, and he felt one of his arms being pulled over her shoulders, the other over Harry's. He wanted to die. A Mudblood, and the 'Chosen One'; the Golden Boy; Harry fucking Potter.

"Uh-uh! _No_ way!"

Draco opened his eyes to see Weasley standing in front of them, barring their way into the compartment. "No—he is _not _coming in here. No way."

"Oh, Ron, just _move!_" Hermione said, exasperated, and she and Harry shoved past the redhead, dragging Draco into the room. They dumped him on the bench, where he rolled onto his side and curled up in a ball of misery. Arms tight around his middle, he squeezed his eyes and mouth shut against another wave of nausea.

"Oh, _God,_" he moaned, and clenched his jaw against the bile rising in his throat.

"If he throws up in here," Ron began, a warning note in his voice. There was a sharp sound; Draco opened an eye to see Hermione smack Ron hard in the arm. The redhead winced and grabbed the area, staring at her with shock.

"What was _that_ for?!" he exclaimed, looking offended. Hermione glared.

"_Honestly, _Ron, you're such an insensitive little wart!" she gestured violently at Draco. "He's _throwing up,_ don't you see—"

"Bloody disgusting." Ron muttered, shooting Draco a look of distaste. Draco sneered slightly, then froze as his stomach twisted. He curled up tighter, groaning.

"Yeah, well, Ron, if it were you, you'd probably feel like—"

"Um, guys?" Neville interrupted nervously. Draco had forgotten he was there. He opened his eyes and saw him sitting against the wall with the Weasley girl. He was pointing at Draco. "He doesn't look too—I think he's gonna be sick again."

Hermione and Ron stopped arguing and looked at the blonde-haired boy curled up on the bench across from them. Feeling their stares, he tried to keep it in, but some vomit dribbled from the corner of his mouth, and he struggled not to throw up all over the compartment.

"Here, Draco," Hermione stood up, waved her wand in the air, and placed a bucket by his head. Ron stared at her as she sat down, and Draco picked up the bucket and stuck his face in it.

"_Draco?_" Ron repeated. "Did you just call him _Draco?_" he sounded incredulous. "Whatever happened to 'Malfoy'?" he looked horrified all of a sudden. "Who _are_ you, and what have you done with Hermione?"

The girl rolled her eyes.

"Ron, seriously, you can be such a… he's _sick,_ Ron."

"Oh, he's sick all right," Ron muttered, folding his arms and glaring daggers at Draco from across the compartment.

Near Draco's feet, someone sighed. He jumped, turning to see Harry sitting at the other end of the bench he was curled up on. He hadn't even noticed him there until now. He stared.

"Ron, Hermione's right." Harry said. "We might not like Malfoy," he looked down at Draco, frowned, then turned back to his friends. "But he _is _sick. And, well…" he shrugged. "Won't kill us to help him."

Draco frowned.

"G—Goody-two-shoes Potter." He said in a rough voice, fighting back more vomit. Harry just looked at him in silence.

"Ungrateful git…" Ron muttered, and stared out the window.

Draco bent his face back into the bucket.

* * *

Ok, there's chapter one. I hope I got everyone's personalities (especially Draco's!) pretty close to perfect? Please give me feedback and review so I can improve on anything! Chapter 2 is already done, and I'm working on Chapter 3 at the moment. :)


	2. I Don't Talk to Mudbloods

_CHAPTER TWO:_ I Don't Talk to Mudbloods

Sometime along the trip, Draco must have fallen asleep, because he woke up to what seemed, at first, an empty compartment. It wasn't until he looked around that he saw Neville Longbottom sitting in the opposite corner, and someone sitting beside him, concealed behind a copy of the _Daily Prophet._

Draco caught Neville's eye—quite by accident—but the boy instantly blanched, and, turning to the person beside him, he tugged at their sleeve.

"He—D—Dra—Malfoy's awake." He finally said, giving up on saying the blonde's first name, and casting the other boy a wary look.

The newspaper folded down, and Harry looked at Draco over it. Their eyes met, and there was a moment of silence. Harry looked cautious and wary. Draco just felt horrible. His mouth tasted disgusting, and his entire body ached. He closed his eyes for a few minutes. When he opened them again, Harry was frowning down at the newspaper, mumbling something under his breath.

Only Neville seemed to notice that Draco's eyes were on them again.

"Um, um… how do—how are you feeling?" Neville asked. "Uh, Draco." He added, hesitant. Draco tried for a sneer, but from the way Neville was looking at him, he could only assume it hadn't been a very successful attempt.

"Like shit." He said bluntly. Harry looked up again at the sound of his voice. He was silent for a moment, looking at Draco. Then, seeming to come to a decision about something, he shrugged.

"What, Malfoy? What do you want?" he asked. "You want water or something?" Draco noticed that he refused to use his first name, and that his voice was anything but friendly. He sneered a little.

"Well, well," he said, his voice weak. "Not such a Golden Boy after all, are we, Potter?" Harry ignored the remark, and, reaching into the rucksack at his side, he pulled out a water bottle and tossed it at Draco.

"Just shut up and drink your water, Malfoy." He said, and disappeared back behind his paper. Draco glanced at Neville, but the boy seemed too scared to look at him. So, shrugging mentally to himself, Draco slowly sat up. Propping himself against the back of the chair, he opened the bottle and took a long swig. He paused, waiting for the nausea, but it didn't come, and he took another drink. He looked around the compartment, swishing water around in his mouth to get rid of the vile aftertaste of being sick. His foot clanged against something, and he looked down to see the bucket the Mudblood had conjured for him. It was clean and empty once more.

Somewhat relieved that he hadn't just kicked a bucket full of sick all over the floor, he closed the lid on the water bottle, and slouched. Swinging one of his legs idly, he looked at the front page of the _Daily Prophet _Harry was holding.

"Whatchya reading there, Potter?" he said. He was pleased to hear that the condescending tone in his voice was back. Harry didn't rise to the bait. He just turned the page he was reading.

"Why?" Harry asked. "Going to insult my intelligence, Malfoy?" he spoke from behind the paper, sounding rather bored. "Going to ask me if I can even read?" Draco was a little startled. But he recovered quickly.

"Well, obviously _not_, Potter, since I just asked you what you were _reading,_ which would imply that I clearly believe you possess the ability."

Neville was watching them both nervously. Harry, however, stayed calm.

"I'm reading a newspaper, Malfoy." He replied. "Maybe _you're _the one who can't read." Draco snorted.

"Lovely, Potter. Just lovely." He fussed with his hair, which was stringy and damp with sweat. One side was flattened to his head from sleeping on it. "Anyone ever tell you what a brilliant personality you've got there, Potter? Really—it's just brilliant." His voice dripped with sarcasm, and he began to smooth the wrinkles out of his jacket using his wand.

"Thank you, Malfoy." Harry replied just as caustically. "You're such a treat yourself." The two fell silent, and Neville relaxed.

"So, um," he began, slowly. "When do you think we'll get there?" Harry shrugged and looked at his watch.

"I'd say pretty soon. I mean, it's already been—"

"I KNEW IT!"

The compartment door flew open, and the three boys all looked up as Ron Weasley barrelled into the room. Floundering madly for his wand, he pointed it accusingly in Draco's direction. "CAUGHT YOU IN THE ACT!"

Everyone stared at him. It was Harry who spoke first.

"Ron, what are you talking about?" he asked. Ron waved his wand violently towards Draco, shooting out several red sparks. Draco slid out of range, scowling.

"Watch it, Weasley, you'll set us all on fire with that." He muttered, but Ron was steaming on with his accusations.

"HERE HE SITS, PLOTTING TO HEX US ALL TO DEATH!" he bellowed. Everyone fell silent, staring at him again.

"Ron—" Harry began, but Ron cut him off, gesturing at Draco again.

"His wand! _HIS WAND!_" Harry and Draco both looked at Draco's wand, lying across his lap. Draco picked it up, and glanced at Ron.

"You're about as sharp as a bit of dragon dung, Weasley." Draco said scathingly. "'Hex you all to death'… oh, yes, but _of course_." He clenched his jaw irritably. "Honestly, Weasley, I was getting the _wrinkles _out of my clothes." He rolled his eyes, and turned away to wash his face with the water from the bottle Harry had tossed at him, all the while muttering about idiots under his breath.

Ron stood in the doorway of the compartment and stared at Draco, dumbfounded. Harry looked at him for a moment, then sighed and threw a handful of Chocolate Frogs at the redheaded boy. "Ron—shut up and sit down." He stood up himself. "I'll be right back." He slipped past Ron and out of the compartment.

Ron scooped up the Frogs and tucked his wand carefully back into his robes. Shakily, he went and sat down where Harry had been sitting. He watched Draco doggedly.

"He—he's a suspicious git," he mumbled to no one in particular, and stuffed one of the Chocolate Frogs into his mouth. He chewed slowly, watching Draco. The blonde-haired boy looked up.

"What, Weasley? You got a crush on me or something?" Draco asked testily. "Quit staring—it creeps me out." Ron narrowed his eyes.

"Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy." He shot back, repeating the blonde boy's words from earlier. Draco gritted his teeth together and smoothed his hair back with handfuls of water.

"Like I'd go for a blood traitor?" Draco hissed, pausing to watch the redhead's reaction to his words from under his arm. Ron sat up straight, his face strangely blank. Draco smirked at getting him to take the bait.

"You bloody little shit-fucker!" Ron suddenly yelled out, and he staggered to his feet. "I'm gonna rearrange that pretty-boy face of yours for you, Malfoy, you piece of crap!" He stumbled across the compartment towards the other boy.

The Slytherin Prince was on his feet, fists clenched at his side. "Touch me, Weasel, and I'll smash your head in." He whispered. His face was white, and his lips curled back to show that his teeth were clenched.

"Bring it on, you bastard!" Ron yowled, and he leapt at Draco. They met, scrabbling at each other and swinging punches. Neville stared at them, cowering, then stood up.

"I'm going to find Harry!" he called out, and bolted from the compartment.

Draco managed to land a right hook, and Ron staggered. He recovered quickly, and rushed forward to head butt Draco in the stomach. Draco let out a loud _huff, _and all the breath whooshed out of him. Winded, he batted at Ron, hitting him in the mouth and eye, but not before Ron got him hard in the nose. Blood gushed from Draco's face, and he swore.

"You little fucking—" he began, and whipped out his wand. Ron fumbled for his, but, here at least, Draco was much faster. One hand clutching his bleeding nose, he pointed his wand at Ron and yelled: "_LEVICORPUS!"_

With a jerk, some invisible force pulled Ron up into the air by his ankle, where he hung upside down, wind milling his arms wildly. Glaring at a laughing Draco from his upside-down vantage point, Ron waved his wand and tried to speak, but his tongue got in the way. The next second, Draco's jacket had burst into flames, and he patted wildly at the flames, yelling and trying to put them out.

There was the sound of footsteps hurrying towards them, and Hermione, Harry, and Neville appeared in the entrance of the compartment. Harry and Neville froze, mouths open as they took in the scene in front of them; Ron hanging upside down from nothing, and Draco wildly pouring what remained of the liquid in his water bottle on his sleeve to no effect.

Hermione sighed. Stepping into the compartment, she waved her wand at Draco, saying: "_Aguamenti!_" A jet of water shot out of the end of her wand, putting out Draco's jacket. Then she turned to Ron, and stared, helpless. "I don't know this spell!" she said, frustrated. Harry, seeming to have regained his senses, pushed past her and pointed his own wand at the upside down redhead.

"_Librecorpus." _He said, and Ron tumbled to the floor, very red in the face; all the blood had rushed to his head. He sat up and glared at Draco, who was mumbling under his breath and waving his wand, slowly fixing the burn holes in his jacket. His nose was still oozing blood down his chin and neck, and onto the floor.

Letting out a rough sort of growl, Ron got to his feet and dove forward, tackling Draco back into the bench. Draco's head smashed into the wall, and he grabbed feebly at Ron, seeing stars. He felt weak.

_It must be because I was sick. _He thought, then Ron's fist connected—_again_—with his nose.

"OW, WEASLEY, WHAT THE HELL IS IT WITH YOU AND MY GOD DAMN NOSE?!?He yelled, and moved to shove Ron off. But the redhead still had lots of fight left in him. He raised his fist again—

"_Impedimenta!" _Hermione yelled, and the spell hit Ron in the back a second later. He looked shocked, then tumbled backwards, off of Draco, allowing the Slytherin to sit up and clutch his bleeding nose. He glared at Ron through two rising black eyes, blood oozing between his fingers.

"Serves you right," he hissed, his voice thick and muffled. Ron's face twitched at him, but he was not yet capable of moving.

Sighing, Hermione stepped over Ron, giving him a look as she did so, and approached Draco. "Here," she said. "Let me see your nose." He hesitated, and she waved at him impatiently. Slowly, he uncovered his face. Pointing her wand at his nose, she said; "_Episky_." There was a definite crack, a burning sensation in his face, then his nose straightened. Draco took the handful of paper towel Hermione held out to him and used it to staunch the bleeding.

"It'll still bleed for a while," she said. "But it's not broken anymore. The bruises should go away soon, too." He just nodded, not meeting her eye. She shrugged, then turned away to tend to Ron. Draco waved his wand at his clothes, muttering a cleaning spell, and removed the blood dripping down his front. He looked out the window, scowling around the red rag pressed to his face.

A Mudblood… he'd let a Mudblood help him. He felt horribly dirty—what would his father say?

Abruptly, he stood up. Everyone turned to look at him, but he ignored them and walked out of the compartment. There was a voice behind him.

"Um, D—Draco?" he looked over his shoulder at her. The Mudblood. She looked confused. "Are—are you okay?" she asked. He stared at her, wondering why the hell she cared, then fixed a sneer onto his bruised face.

"Don't try to talk to me," he said condescendingly. "I don't hold conversations with _Mudbloods._" Ignoring her look of shocked hurt, he turned on his heel and marched back to the Slytherin compartments as the train chugged to a stop. They had finally arrived at Hogwarts.


	3. You Can Take the Kid Out of the Fight

_CHAPTER THREE: _You Can Take the Kid Out of the Fight…

"Oh, Draco!" Pansy crooned as he dragged himself off of the train. "You look _dreadful._" She stared at his black eyes, and at the blood still gushing from his nose. He glared.

"Leave me alone." Draco snapped. "I'm not in the mood for idiots." She looked affronted, then turned her back on him.

"Well, _fine._" She said huffily, and she stormed off towards the horseless carriages that took them up to the school, not even looking back. Draco rolled his eyes, but the motion hurt, and he winced. Pulling his robes hastily on over his clothes, he took a deep breath and began his saunter away from the platform.

"Sooo," Blaise began, falling into step beside him. "You gonna tell me what happened to your face? Or did you decide to try for the 'goth' look?" Draco's mouth twitched with annoyance.

"Don't start with me, Zabini." He growled. "I meant it when I said I wasn't in the mood for—what the hell is a _'goth'_?" he asked, distracted, and Blaise laughed.

"As far as I can tell, it's someone who wears lots of black eye-shadow and junk on their faces. But—for some reason—only when they're trying to be rebellious. Or something." He shrugged. "Heard some of the Muggle-Borns talking about it. Honestly, _Muggles_…" and he let his words trail off as he shook his head. Draco made a dismissive sound, and they climbed into one of the carriages. Inside sat Bletchley and Adrian Pucey, another member of the Quidditch team, third, smaller boy. A Slytherin second year with black hair, who Draco didn't know the name of; he was sitting beside Adrian and looking out the window. He looked up when the two boys climbed into the coach, and cast a curious glance at Draco's bruise mottled face. Then, catching the blonde-haired boy's eye, he looked away from the ugly glare contorting his battered face.

"Yeah, that's right," Draco muttered under his breath. "You look away, nosy little prat…" Blaise turned towards him.

"Huh?" he asked. "You say something?" Draco shook his head.

"No. Never-mind."

Blaise shrugged. "Alright." Draco turned away and pressed his face against the window, looking outside. It was beginning to rain, and water pelted the roof of the carriage, running down the glass. With a jolt, the coach began to move slowly up towards the castle, shaking slightly with the rising wind.

"Bloody hell, I'm freezing." Adrian said from the other side of the carriage. "Can't wait to get inside." Beside him, the second year's mouth turned down unhappily at the corners.

"Hungry." He stated bluntly. "I'm hungry—_starving."_

After his statement, everyone's stomachs began to growl, and, reaching across the middle of the carriage, Blaise cuffed the boy in the head. The black haired second year shot him a glare, then returned to looking out the window. The rest of the ride followed in silence until they pulled up to the school and got out. Holding his cloak up over his head, Draco followed the rush of students into the castle.

Stopping in the entrance hall, he shook water from his clothes and hair, and paused to look around. He caught site of a group of Gryffindors, and narrowed his eyes, searching for red hair and round, oval glasses. Finally realizing that it was a gathering of third and second years, excitedly trading what looked like Chocolate Frog cards, he rolled his eyes and, sweeping about, sauntered arrogantly into the Great Hall.

As he crossed between the long house tables, he looked up at the roof, a steely grey mirror of the sky. He scowled, and made his way over to the Slytherin table, where he sunk down beside a boy named Theodore Nott in the same year as him. They exchanged nods, then Draco turned to stare at the slowly filling Gryffindor table.

There was Seamus Finnegan, the filthy half-blood, and next to him sat Neville Longbottom. Draco snorted. Pure-blood or not, the boy was next to useless. He felt his swollen nose, then his eyes narrowed as he watched Golden Boy Potter the Wonderscar, Weasel King, and the bushy-haired Mudblood enter the Hall amid a group of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. They were all laughing, and Draco watched them split up and go to their individual tables. Sneering at their backs, he looked back to the entry way of the Great Hall, at the rising commotion of the new students arriving. He rolled his eyes again, hoping that the Sorting would be over quickly; he was starving.

He drummed his fingers on the edge of the table as each new student was called up, put on the hat, and was Sorted into their new houses. He clapped along with the other Slytherins as several new students walked nervously across the Great Hall and took their seat at the green and silver table. Draco saw Blaise thump a small, sandy-haired boy on the back when he took a seat beside the tall, black boy, then looked back up to the front of the Hall.

Professor McGonagall was rolling up the list of names in her hands, and, tucking the Sorting Hat under her arm, she strode away. As she passed the Staff Table, Professor Dumbledore stood up and, stepping towards the owl podium with its wings spread wide, raised his hands for silence. Everyone immediately stopped talking, and faces turned towards the front of the Hall.

"I know you're hungry," Dumbledore began, and smiled indulgently at the groans and angry mutters that filled the room. Then, waving his wand, he said; "So I won't keep you waiting! Let the feast begin!"

Draco smirked, then swivelled around as huge plates and bowls of food appeared on the long tables before the students. "_Finally,_" he muttered, and reached out to scoop food onto his plate. Cramming mashed potatoes and gravy into his mouth, he paused to fill his goblet with iced pumpkin juice, then stuffed more food into his mouth and chewed in a long moment of silence. All around him, Slytherins were talking and eating, some teasing the new first years or throwing bits of food at each other's heads when backs were turned.

Swallowing, Draco took a long gulp from his goblet, then twisted in his seat to look around the Great Hall again. At the table behind him, the Gryffindors were almost as loud as his own table, laughing and yelling over one another to be heard over the rumble of the four Houses. Sitting closest to him were Neville Longbottom, Ron's sister—Ginny Weasley, that was her name—and Dean Thomas. Across from them, Ron Weasley shovelled mashed potatoes and roast beef into his mouth at an alarming rate. Just watching him made Draco feel sick. He turned away, but not before glancing askance at Hermione and Harry, who were only picking at their food. Hermione was frowning into an open book, the one she had been carrying on the train, and Harry was talking quietly with Seamus Finnegan beside him.

When Draco turned back to his table, Blaise gave him an odd look, but the blonde-haired boy ignored him and turned back to his food as the main meal was cleared away, and desert appeared on the plates before them.

Helping himself to pudding and treacle tart, Draco smirked.

Downstairs in the Slytherin Common Room in the dungeons, Draco stretched out languidly on one of the green couches in the cold main room, watching fellow Slytherins going about their business in slow and lethargic motions.

"Draco."

Draco looked up as Miles Bletchley plopped himself down on the other couch, watching the blonde-haired boy with heavy eyes. Blaise, from across the room, saw them and wandered over. He perched on the arm of Draco's couch, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"So, Draco," Miles began again. He and Blaise exchanged short glances, and Blaise nodded slightly. Draco's expression darkened.

"What?" he snapped. "What do you two want?" the other two Slytherins exchanged looks again, then turned to face Draco.

"Well, we're just wondering, you know… where'd you go?" Blaise asked, slowly. Draco frowned.

"What?" he demanded. "Where'd I go when?"

"On the train," Miles clarified. "After you left the compartment; where'd you go?" he looked around the Common Room, dropping his voice until he was almost whispering. "We… we heard, well, that you were with…" he paused, staring at Draco, as if wondering if he dared to push the other boy's anger with rumours. Then, as if coming to a decision, he went on; "_—Potter,_ and his little gang of dirty blood traitors." Beside him, Blaise's eyes were on Draco, slightly curious. "_And,_" Miles added. "That you let a _Mudblood…touch _you. Voluntarily."

Draco stared at them for a moment, then, tilting back his head, he let out a harsh, barking laugh. The two boys looked at him uneasily, grimacing at his somewhat maniacal chuckling. Draco wiped imaginary laugh tears from the corners of his eyes, and stretched out his arms on the back of the couch.

"You two really need to get your facts straight. Hanging with _Potter_, yeah, _right_," he rolled his eyes. "No _thank you_." He straightened his robes, and, pointing his wand at the empty grate, conjured flames inside the fireplace. Smirking, he looked back at his friends.

"As for the rumour about the Mudblood, well, I'd have thought you two, at least, would know better than to believe such ridiculous nonsense." He watched them closely for their reactions, and was pleased when they seemed to believe him. Miles nodded, and Blaise looked into the fire with a blank expression on his face.

"Ok." Miles said, slowly. "If that's what you say—"

"It is." Draco interrupted angrily. Standing, he vaulted over the back of the couch. "Now, I'm going to bed before anyone else comes up with more stupid ideas about me and the supposed company I keep." And he sauntered off towards the Dorms.

During breakfast the next morning, Professor Snape walked along the Slytherin table and handed out everyone's Timetables. Draco took his and, looking down at it, let his upper lip curl derisively. Pucey, sitting beside him, noticed and dragged his own timetable towards him. He raised an eyebrow.

"Joy, joy, _joy_," he said, and his voice was thick with sarcasm. "Double Care of Magical Creatures with the Gryffindors, first thing this morning. Then," he licked the tip of his finger, and dramatically jabbed it at the middle of the sheet of parchment in his hand, saying; "_Then,_ Double Charms with, _again_, the Gryffindors," he slid his finger down the timetable. "And, oh joy of joys, Double Potions with, _again_, the _Gryffindors._" He tossed his timetable down on his empty plate with a look of disgust. "Life's little wonders, huh, Draco?" he crammed his sheet into the pockets of his robes, and began to scoop eggs, sausage, and bacon onto his plate. Beside him, Draco snorted.

"Oh, yes indeed." He agreed. Folding up his own timetable, he slipped it away and helped himself to toast. "On the plus side, however, we get to enjoy watching Professor Snape take Goody-two-shoes Potter down a couple of notches." Beside him, Adrian let out a cold laugh, and Draco smirked. His eyes flicked up to the Gryffindor table as he watched the '_Dream Team'_ slide into their seats and groan at their own timetables.

"Oh, that's just _great_," he heard Ron whine. "Three Double classes with the Slytherins in one day… which means Malfoy _cubed._" He irritably crumpled the offensive sheet of parchment into a ball and dropped it into his pocket. "Kill me now, please." Draco heard him, mutter, and he looked down at his breakfast with a sneer.

"Come on," he said to Pucey, and stood up. "Let's go deal with those namby-pamby little goody-two-shoes." Adrian nodded, and, standing up, he followed Draco out of the Great Hall, and through the entryway.

As Adrian and Draco sauntered down the front lawn, towards Hagrid's hut, several Slytherins caught up and fell into step with them. By the time they had arrived at the class, the Gryffindors were already in groups, chatting and laughing like they had in the Great Hall. They were gathered around a small, squat little shelter, and peering inside it curiously.

"Hey, _Potter,_" Draco drawled, taking note of the bespectacled boy hovering at the edge of the crowd of red and gold. "Checking out some prime real-estate with Weasley for when you two finally get married and move in together?" he jerked his head towards the makeshift lean-to, and watched the predictable reddening of Ron's face.

"Shut up, Malfoy!" he snarled, and stepped forward. Draco faked a look of surprise.

"Oh, I'm sorry Weasley; did I hit a nerve?" he spoke with mock innocence. "I merely thought that, well, living in the dumpster you and the other redhead trash inhabit, that this, er—house?" he cast a frown at the makeshift structure, then shrugged with a bemused smile and continued. "—would be, ah, rather… how shall I say? _Better _than your current residency?" his mask of playful naivety fell away, and was replaced with a cold sneer. "Of course, since Potter is the only one of the two of you who can afford it, I guess that would make him the man of the household, am I right, Weasel King?"

Ron's face was a dark and ugly red. "Draco," he began warningly, stepping forward. Harry, too, lifted his hand towards his robes, no doubt reaching for his wand. But, before either boy could act, Hermione strode out of the crowd of Gryffindors, whipped her wand out of her pocket, and jabbed the end right between Draco's eyes.

"Shut your mouth, Malfoy, or I'll curse you into next Tuesday." She threatened. Draco's heart was suddenly in his throat—after all, she wasn't the smartest student in their year for nothing—but he chose to hide it. He thought he could push this a little further. He twisted his mouth into a sneer.

"Oh, so sorry, Granger; I forgot to add you into the situation! How left out you must have been feeling." Behind him, several of the other Slytherins snickered. Draco's own grin grew bigger. "But, then again," he went on. "You _should_ be used to it, being left out, you know." At her confused look, he smirked. "You stupid Mudblood, no one cares what happens to you. But," and here he waved his hand dismissively. "If you _really _wanted to be apart of the Scarhead and Weasel Kings' future love story, then I guess you can be their dirty, dimwitted dog—it's more than you're worth, anyways." He looked at his hands, inspecting his nails lazily. "You really should thank me, giving you such a good standing in my little story."

There was a moment of silence in which he could actually _feel_ the cold sneers of his fellow Slytherins supporting him—and hear the fury rising off of the Gryffindors.

"Hermione—no!" someone yelled out, and Harry shot forward to try and grab her arm, to try and stop her, but he wasn't fast enough. Gifted Seeker or not, he couldn't get there fast enough to stop Hermione from saying, with the tip of her wand still pressed against the skin between Draco's eyes; "_Conjunctivitis!_"

There was a flash, and then Draco was blind, his eyes burning and pulsing in agonizing waves. Yelling and wind milling his arms wildly, he stumbled backwards and fell down. Instantly, he heard the two Houses start shooting insults back and forth, and felt his fellow Slytherins surround him.

"You _BITCH!" _he screamed thickly. "You've _blinded _me! I can't see, I can't see!" he pointed vaguely in the direction where he thought she might be standing. "You goddamn filthy little Mudblood! You whore, you fucking—" but there was another shout ("_Furnunculus_!") and Draco felt as if his skin was boiling, then it faded. He raised his hands to his face, felt strange, horribly sensitive nodules and bumps all over his cheeks, forehead, and nose, and blacked out.

* * *

A/N: Um, yeah. So Draco's not having a very good week. I know I'm kind of laying on the angst or whatever a little thick at the moment, but I PROMISE that it's about to pay off. 'Cause I just figured out how Draco and Hermione are slowly going to become closer. Of course, right now, it looks rather impossible... :) But, no worries, I got it under control. :D Please rate/comment?


	4. You Can't Take the Fight Out of the Kid

_CHAPTER FOUR: _…But You Can't Take the Fight Out of the Kid.

When Draco finally woke up, it was in the hospital ward. His sight had returned, but was a little fuzzy at the edges, and, when he felt his face cautiously, it almost felt normal, if a little rougher than usual. Grumbling, he rolled over, pushed his face into the scratchy pillow, and pulled the blankets over his head. These past two days had been truly horrible. It looked like this just wasn't his week.

Rubbing the back of his head, he looked around the room, curious. Madam Pomfrey was bent over a boy, encouraging him to drink what Draco recognized as a Pain Reliever potion. He thought the boy might have been one of the new first years, but, for the life of him, could not remember which House he belonged to. Shrugging, he turned and looked out of the window beside his bed, jumping violently when there was suddenly a voice speaking to him.

"Mister Malfoy?"

His neck whipped around so quick that he got a crick. Grimacing and stretching, he looked at the Nurse.

"How are you feeling today, Mister Malfoy?" she continued. He shrugged.

"I dunno—sleepy?" he replied. "How long have I been here?" She huffed, and planted her hands on her hips.

"Very funny, Mister Malfoy." She said to his first reply. "And you have been in here for almost a week." His eyes widened. _A week? But, how—? _But she was continuing. "Well, how about this, then; how does your face feel? The skin, I mean." Draco thought about it, then said;

"Kind of… rough. Dry." She nodded.

"Well, that is to be expected. That was a rather powerful boil curse. You're lucky that you didn't get scars for life." She squinted at him. "And your eyes? What about them? How are they feeling?"

Draco felt his face, his mind lingering horribly on the word 'scars'; an image of Potter came to mind, and he shuddered. No way would he _ever _want to look like _that_. Slowly becoming aware of Madam Pomfrey's second question, he blinked a few times.

"Sore." He said bluntly. "And everything's a little blurry—at the edges, yeah." She nodded.

"Well, that, too, is to be expected." She began to gather up bottles from beside his bed. "You must have made someone very angry, Mister Malfoy, for them to cast two very powerful curses on you as they—"

"Granger." He interrupted. She paused and looked up in surprise.

"Pardon?" she asked. He scowled.

"Granger—Hermione. Granger. She was the one who cursed me." He sneered at the bed sheets. "Filthy Mudblood." He added under his breath, too soft for the Nurse to hear. When he looked up again, Madam Pomfrey had raised an eyebrow.

"Ms. Granger, hmm?" she looked somewhat reproving. "Well, Mister Malfoy, you must have made her very angry indeed; Ms. Granger has never sent anyone to the Hospital Wing before." She fixed him with a very shrewd look. "Am I correct?"

Draco looked away, scowling. "Yeah," he said petulantly. "I might have. What's it to you?"

"You are a very unpleasant young man, Mister Malfoy." Madam Pomfrey stated, and, her mouth a thin, disapproving line, she turned and marched off to her office.

Draco snorted and turned to look out of the window again. Then, a thought striking him, he sat up and yelled towards the office; "Hey! How long do I gotta stay here?"

There was a pause. Then; "For as long as it takes until you are better, Mister Malfoy."

He snorted again. "Figures," he muttered. Laying his head back down on his pillow, he let himself sink into sleep.

A strange, repetitive sound woke him up. _Fwip, fwip… _over and over again, at regular intervals. Groaning, Draco slowly opened his eyes. They took longer than normal to focus, and, when they did, things were slightly less blurry than they had been when he'd woken up before. Rubbing the sleep from them, he rolled over, took his hands away from his face, and froze, staring.

"What the hell are _you _doing here?" he asked rudely, after getting over his initial shock.

Sitting in a chair beside his bed was Hermione. She held a thick book in her hands, and the sound that had woken him had been her turning the pages. She slammed it shut, and he tilted his head, trying to read the cover. But she dropped her hands over it, folding them together, and looked at him with a calm air of anger.

"Shut up, Malfoy, before I get it in my head to curse you again." She said matter-of-factly. Draco opened his mouth, paused, then closed it again. He'd better not push it; he did not fancy another week spent in the Hospital Wing. Or longer. Rolling his eyes, he turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.

"Well?" he said after a long moment of silence. "What do you want?" he lolled his head over until he could see her again. "Why're you here? Come to beg my forgiveness?" he smirked. "It's a lost cause, you know; I don't forgive people I consider under me. Then again, I bet you wish I considered you at all. After all, you are a—" "_You_ _wish _I was under you," she muttered angrily, venom dripping from her voice.

Draco paused, wondering if he had heard right. "Granger," he said, slowly. "Did you just… _burn _me?" he couldn't help the note of shock in his voice. She looked at him with a bored expression.

"Shut up, Malfoy." She said simply. He rolled his eyes again.

"You're just lovely, Granger. You sure you don't want to add a 'your momma' to that? No, really? You're certain? Oh, my, that's a rather rude thing to do with your middle finger, Granger, honestly, what a classy girl, just oh so—"

She stood up, lifted something into her arms off of the floor, then dropped a pile of books and loose-leaf onto his legs. He yelped and jumped.

"OW!" he exclaimed, and pulled his legs out from underneath the pile. "What the _HELL_ is all this?!" Hermione folded her arms over her chest, looking at him.

"It's called _homework, _Malfoy." She said scathingly. "And, somehow, _I_ got stuck with the job of giving it to you." She waved a hand at the pile of schoolwork. "I'm lending you my notes, so make sure you hurry up and get them back to me soon." She turned around, as if to leave, then paused. "Oh, and…" looking over her shoulder, she frowned. Draco blinked at the sudden indecisiveness in her tone, and watched her curiously. She shook her head, then continued.

"And… I'm sorry. For, you know—cursing you. You _are _a right little bugger, but I shouldn't have been so…"

"Damaging?" Draco offered, scathingly. She screwed up her face, then nodded.

"Sure." She said, then gave him a tentative smile. "So, yeah—I'm sorry." She turned away again; began walking towards the door. Draco dragged himself up into a sitting position, pushing piles of books and paper and quills onto the floor in his haste.

"HEY, GRANGER!" he yelled. She stopped, turning to frown at him.

"What?" she asked. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"I don't _care_ about you _or _your apology!" he said, and she only smiled.

"There's the Malfoy I know and hate." She replied, and walked out of the Hospital Wing.

Draco collapsed back against the pillows, smirking.

"'Right little bugger', indeed," he muttered. "Stupid little Mudblood, she doesn't know me at all." He stared out the window, his brow smooth and his lips curled in something more like a smile than a smirk.

"Draco."

The voice, cold and smooth, made him jump and look up quickly, as if he had been doing something wrong and bad, instead of merely shirking his homework. He looked up from his doodling and blinked at Snape.

"Sir—?" he asked, setting his quill back in its holder. Snape inclined his head.

"I merely thought it would be a good idea to check on your condition." His black eyes flickered down to the sheet of parchment spread across Draco's lap, lingering on his shoddy artwork. The Professor's lips twisted ever so slightly. "So glad to see that you are filling your time here constructively." Draco felt his face burning.

"I'm doing—er—homework," he insisted, pulling out several sheaves of parchment and spreading them out on the bed sheets. Some fluttered to the floor, and Snape stooped to pick them up. He raised his eyebrows.

"This is not your writing, Draco." He noted. He cast a wry eye at the blonde-haired boy. "Copying, are we, Draco?" his lips thinned. "I really expected better of such a—"

"No, no, they're notes!" Draco interrupted hurriedly. "Notes—someone lent them to me, to help me with the work I've missed." Snape looked slightly surprised.

"Notes?" he repeated, and glanced down at the papers held in his hand. "From whom?" Draco looked down.

"Granger, sir." He hesitated, then added; "She brought my work to me, I guess one of the teachers told her to or something, and—and she lent me her notes." He finished, and shrugged. "I don't know why—I guess she just felt sorry? For what she did to me, I mean, sir."

Snape looked like he was thinking. Finally, he shook his head, gathered up the spread out papers, and placed them in a neat stack at Draco's side.

"Hmmm." He said. "Interesting. Well, I'll leave you to it, then, Draco." And, with a final nod, he swept from the room, his long, black robes billowing.

Draco watched him go, then, stretching, looked down at his doodling. A Snitch—oh, how he longed to beat Potter, just once, just once, at his own game—and the foggy shape of a Dementor. He had never been a very skilled artist; the Dementor looked like a stickman in a ragged grey towel. Draco shrugged, tossed aside the doodle paper, and pulled a stack of work towards him. Flipping open one of the heavy text books, he unearthed Hermione's notes from the pile, and held them in his hands for a moment, frowning at them. Finally, he shrugged again, dipped his quill in the ink bottle, and bent forward to begin writing.

It was barely ten minutes later that there was a small commotion at the doorway, and he looked up to see Blaise and Adrian tumble into the room. He stared at them.

"What the hell are you blokes doing?" he demanded, hastily shoving Hermione's notes under his work, hiding them from sight. He really didn't feel like being interrogated again. He looked up and watched the two Slytherins practically dive through the threshold, and roll across the floor. Adrian ended up somewhere under one of the beds, but Blaise calmly stood up and walked over to where Draco sat. Shortly after, Adrian popped out from under a metal bed frame and joined them. Draco stared at them both.

"What the _hell _was _that?_" he said, feeling embarrassed just looking at them. But Blaise was shaking his head, trying to catch his breath. It was Adrian that answered.

"Peeves," he stated. "Throwing dungbombs all across the hall." He looked mildly disgusted; it was a distinctive character trait of Adrian's, that his face very rarely showed an excess amount of emotion. He went on to say, "Think I want to smell like bombs all day? No thanks." He looked around the room with a sort of bland curiosity, then wandered over to poke the first year Draco had noticed when he first woke up.

"Oh," Blaise said after a moment of silence. "Almost forgot—here." He lifted a bag, and, tipping it upside down over the bed, dumped loads of candy and sweets all over Draco's lower body. The blonde-haired boy smirked.

"About time." He sneered, and, grabbing a handful of brightly-wrapped sweets, unwrapped them and stuffed them into his mouth. "Had nothing to eat but this bloody hospital wing slop." He said through a mouthful of chocolate and hard candy. Adrian, who had returned from prodding and staring at the first year in a menacing manner, strolled over and settled himself in the chair beside Draco's bed. Eyeing him, Draco could not help but compare the boy with the chair's previous occupant. Clearing his throat uneasily, he unwrapped a Chocolate Frog. Biting off the head with a sort of dark, savage pleasure, he turned over the collectable card and snorted.

"What?" said Blaise, settling himself on the bed near Draco's feet. "You get someone crappy?"

"_Dumbledore,_" Draco sneered. With another snort, he tossed the card away from him. "What a weak old Muggle lover." His fellow Slytherins chuckled darkly, and Draco smirked.

They spent most of the day in the Hospital Wing, stuffing themselves with candy, making fun of the Gryffindors, and calling out insults to anyone who walked by that wasn't a Slytherin. It was as Adrian was entertaining himself by pelting the first year—who seemed somewhat unable to move—with Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans that Madam Pomfrey came out of her office. She paused, looking at the boys, the candy wrappers strewn over the bed and floor, and at the jelly beans bouncing off the first year's slack face, and her mouth tightened into a thin, disapproving line.

"Mister Adrian, stop that at once. If you and Mister Zabini wish to visit Mister Malfoy, you must learn to respect the Hospital Wing and the people staying here. If you do not, then I will be forced to—"

It was only when Adrian hit her in the face with a bogie flavoured bean that she lost it, and chased both him and Blaise out of the room. She glared at Draco, then shoved a glass of pale green liquid towards his face.

"Drink it." She ordered. Draco looked at her shrewdly, then narrowed his eyes at the drink.

"Is it poison?" he asked, suspiciously. She glared.

"Poison or not, Mister Malfoy, you _will_ drink it right now, or I'll call in Ms. Granger, and she can take care of you!" she said, and he snatched the goblet from her hand, downing the liquid in one gulp. He gasped; it was like swallowing ice. She took the goblet from him, and marched away, disappearing into her office.

"Bossy old nag," he muttered under his breath. But his eyes were getting heavy, and he couldn't sit up any longer. Sagging back into the pillow, he fell asleep again.

_A/N_: Yeah… so, review please? Tell me if I'm getting the characters ok? : /


	5. The Perforated Ego of Draco Malfoy

_CHAPTER FIVE: _The Perforated Ego of Draco Malfoy

When Draco was finally released from the Hospital Wing, he was not sorry to see the end of that place. Settling into his usual strut, he sauntered down towards the dungeons, where the Slytherin Common Room was, and almost bowled over a first year in the familiar green and silver colours of his House.

"Watch it, you stupid midget." Draco snapped, pushing past the boy.

"Yes—s—sorry." The first year stammered, and scampered off. Draco shared a small smile with himself. Ahh, how good it felt to be back.

After giving the password, he sauntered smugly into the Common Room, fully expecting a resounding cheer, or at least a victorious high-five for having conquering Granger's uncalled-for jinxes. However, looking around, he found himself to be alone. Well, almost; there were two second years poking moodily at an overly large beetle in the far corner of the room, obviously having enlarged it with magic. Draco snorted, and swept past them, to his dorm.

Entering the room, he stormed over to his bed, and, yanking open one of the drawers of his dresser, he unceremoniously dumped his armful of books and papers and notes inside. Slamming the drawer shut, he turned and tossed a large grey notebook onto the bed. Then, twisting, he flopped onto his back on the cool, straight covers. Emerald green, with silver thread running along in vague shapes. He ran his palm over it absent-mindedly, his eyes blank and far-off.

Why _had _Granger brought him her notes? And _had _one of the teachers, indeed, asked her to bring him his missed work, or had that been an excuse for her to come and check on him? Well, no, that didn't make any sense; she had been the one to put him there, in the Hospital Wing, in the first place… Letting out a frustrated sigh, Draco rolled onto his side, scowling.

"Damn Gryffindors," he muttered under his breath, his face dark and angry. Well, technically it was only one Gryffindor causing him annoyance right then, but he hated Potty and the Weasel King, so why not just leave it at the plural sense?

Groaning, he rolled over again, this time onto the grey notebook, which dug painfully into his spine. Letting out a small exclamation of pain and annoyance, he yanked the thing out from under him, and, his arms up in the air, opened it above his face. Almost immediately, several papers and an inked quill fell out and fluttered down, splattering ink on his face, neck, chest, and bed sheets. Draco closed his eyes and sighed. It looked like the bad week was continuing. Maybe it would just go on, and on, and on, and turn into a bad month… a bad year… maybe even a bad _lifetime._

Sighing again, he opened his eyes, and tried to get them to focus on the writing scrawled over the paper. But, with it balanced on his nose as it was, the writing was too close and too blurry to make out. Snatching the sheet up with one hand, he held it away from his face and read, aloud;

_"The properties of Monkshood and Wolfbane have long been disputed as having different effects when used in potion making. Many arguments have been recorded as supposedly basing an accurate difference between the two, when, in all actual fact, they are one and the same…"_ He stopped reading and his eyes flicked up to the top corner of the parchment, where two words were neatly inscribed. 'Hermione Granger'.

Still staring at the sheet of notes, Draco let his eyes un-focus and he began to think. If he was really so agitated about the whole 'Granger coming to visit him in the hospital' thing, then, maybe, he should just _grow a pair_ and go and _ask her._ Like a real man. He snorted, then his face set into its usual, overly-cocky grin.

Swinging his legs off his bed, he stood. Gathering the rest of the papers off his bed and the floor, he tucked them neatly back into the grey notebook, then, with his wand, vanished the ink stains from the bedding and his clothes. Casting a critical eye over the emerald duvet, he nodded, please to see that not a single blotch of black remained in all the green. Tucking the notebook under his arm, and practically swaggering, he left the Dorm, returning to the Common Room.

"Hey—Draco," Urquhart, the Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, strolled into the room, his heavy face sat into a somewhat vague half-smile. "Heard you were in the Hospital Wing." He dropped down onto one of the green couches, and began to pick idly at his fingernails. He looked over the back of the sofa when Draco still hadn't replied. Draco shook his head, letting his face settle into a smirk.

"Oh—oh, yeah. I was." He nervously hid the notebook under his cloak, watching Urquhart carefully as he did so. The large boy was back to regarding his hands, and didn't seem to notice. Draco sighed in relief.

"Huh." The other boy grunted. "What put you in there?" Draco let out a laugh filled with scorn.

"Granger, that dumb, Gryffindor bitch—she cursed me. Twice—_twice!_" he repeated, prompting a disbelieving sound from the large Slytherin. Draco sneered. "Filthy Mudblood—thinks she taught me a lesson or something, I expect." He snorted, and Urquhart nodded slowly.

"Yeah." He said, and Draco couldn't keep from rolling his eyes at the other boy's obvious thickness. None of his fellow Slytherins—with maybe the exception of Zabini and Pucey—shared his intellect or wit. Once, just _once_, he'd like to have an intelligent conversation, one that involved actual words, and not mere grunts and other vague sounds.

_But you _did_ have that, once, didn't you, Draco?_ A sly little voice hummed at the back of his head. _With Granger, in the Hospital Wing—and even with Potter, back on the train; maybe you should have been in Gryffindor, Draco Malfoy, because that's obviously where all the brains are… _Draco's eye twitched, and he shoved the voice into silence. His face still screwed up, he noticed Urquhart, watching him. Draco blinked at him, realizing that he'd missed something.

"Huh?" he said, dumbly. And here he'd stood, blatantly wishing for some intelligent conversation, and now he sounded just as dunderheaded as the rest of them. He scowled.

"I said, you coming to the lake? Everyone's down there; we're bugging the Giant Squid and whatever."

Draco had never heard of anything so stupid. 'Bugging the Giant Squid'? Just how unintelligent could people be? But he kept that all to himself, and, instead, fixed a rueful look on his face while shaking his head.

"Damn, that sounds like fun." He said, sounding unconvincing even to himself. "But, can't—got to go to the library." He shrugged. "Behind in class, being in the hospital and all." Urquhart's face creased into a slow frown.

"Behind?" he repeated. "But—I thought Granger brought you your work or something—"

Draco rushed to cut him off.

"Yes, well, she's a stupid Mudblood, isn't she? Can't do a single thing right, can she?" all the time, he was sliding out of the door. "Yes, yeah, well, er, ok, bye!" and he jumped from the Common Room, into the cold stone hallway. Letting his breath out in a shaky sigh, he closed his eyes for a second. When he was sure that he looked as snarky and in control as usual, he set off for the main floor, his long legs taking him strutting quickly away from the dungeons.

When he reached the entry hall, he paused, wondering where he should go now. He'd vaguely been planning to give Granger back her notes, then demand what she thought she was doing, waiting beside his hospital bed for him to wake up, Mudblood that she was… but he really couldn't think where she might be. And he was _not_ about to go barging into the Gryffindor Common Room (if he had even known where it was), or search the entire bloody school and its grounds for her.

Thinking quickly, his eyes drifted down to the grey notebook, tucked underneath his arm. Well, he _was_ behind in his work, that much had not been a lie. He might as well head to the library and get it done, or Snape would have his head, favourite or not.

Settling into his casual saunter, he headed for the library, glancing lazily out the windows as he did so. It was sunny, and the grounds were busy with Hogwarts students. From here, he could just make out several large, blocky Slytherins, hurling rocks at a thrashing squid. He rolled his eyes, then paused. Two heads—one with black hair, one with red—bobbed out of the castle's doors, and Ron Weasley and Harry Potter strolled across the grass, towards the hut at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Draco snorted; off to visit their little half-breed friend for a cup of tea, where they? _Losers._ Smirking, he continued on his way.

When he finally reached the library, he peered between the bookshelves, making sure there weren't any of his fellow Slytherins around (not that they would have been caught dead inside in the library on a day like this—or, well, ever, really, if he was going to be honest with himself). Satisfied that he would not be bombarded with questions, or made to endure yet another conversation consisting of grunts and humming, he sank into a chair and sighed. Smiling slightly, for no reason that he could really discern, he dropped the heavy grey notebook onto the desk with a loud and resounding _bang._ He felt the glares of the librarian and at least one student, who looked like they were in Gryffindor. He smirked and glared back. With an angry look, and gathering up their things, the Gryffindor flounced out of the office without a backwards glance.

Besides himself, there were only three other people in the library; two third year Hufflepuffs giggled and gasped over a thick, blue-bound book in the middle of the room, pointing out pictures in hushed whispers to one another; sitting off to the side was a 7th year Ravenclaw who Draco thought was called Eddie Carmichael, bent over his books and looking flustered; and, off in the corner by herself, her bushy, wild hair a tangled mass as she bent over a long roll of parchment, her quill scratching away madly…

_Well, now or never._ He thought, and, slipping the grey notebook off the desk and under his arm again, he sauntered over to where she sat. He paused, hesitating, waiting to see if she would notice him there, but she didn't even look up—didn't give any sign that she knew he was there at all. So, shrugging, he dropped into the chair across from her, taking care to scrape the legs loudly across the ground as he did so. She just kept writing, mumbling under her breath and tugging at her hair. He stared at her, fascinated.

Then, when he had finally grown bored of his presence going unnoticed, he put his arms straight out in front of him, with the book held out over the desk. He sat like that for a moment, waiting to see if she would look up. But she didn't. And Draco Malfoy had always hated being ignored.

So he let the book go.

_WHUMP!_ It hit the desk with a fantastically loud bang, and Hermione Granger must have jumped about a mile into the air. Her roll of parchment went flying, as did her quill, and Draco's smirk suddenly was gone; once again, he found himself with ink splattered over his face, neck, and clothes. Growling, he wiped the thick, black liquid out of his eyes.

"Nice going, Granger," he snapped. "Aim for my pants, too, next time, will you? You somehow managed to miss them." he pulled out his wand and, with an irritable wave, siphoned away the ink. He put his wand back into his robes, then sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest, a vague look of disgust on his pale face.

Hermione, meanwhile, had dodged under the table to retrieve her work. She finally reappeared with ink spotting her face, which she wiped away absentmindedly on her robes. She righted her ink cartridge, vanished the ink seeping across the table, and carefully set her quill back inside its holder. Then—and only then—did she raise her eyes to Draco, and say;

"Draco Malfoy, you are the biggest fucking jerk I have ever met." And, sweeping her work together, she turned and stormed out of the library.

Draco watched her go, then smirked and leaned his chair back on two legs. Ah, how he loved pissing people off. Then he sobered. However, that had not been his original intention. Well, yes, he _had_ dropped the book on the table, invariably scaring the living hell out of her, but, really—how was one supposed to _resist _such a delicious and tempting opportunity? And, besides; it really wasn't his fault that she was such a klutz and she'd sent the inkbottle flying. Honestly, who did people think he was? _God?_ He laughed out loud at that one. "I'm not _that _great," he said to himself, and, from two desks down, he heard; "You got that right, Draco—so shut up. I'm trying to study for my N.E.W.T.S."

When Draco looked up, Eddie Carmichael was still bent low over his notes, but he was sure it had been him to speak, from the angry frown creasing the older boy's features. He rolled his eyes.

"Well, Carmichael, what if I don't _want_ to 'shut up'?" he pressed. "Hmmm? What if I just want to keep talking? You gonna go run to your mommy if I do that, Carmichael? If I just talk, and talk, and talk, and talk…" he felt ready to go all day—this was highly amusing to him—and would have, gladly, if someone had not grabbed his chair and tipped it backwards, sending him somersaulting onto the floor. Sprawled on his back, he looked up and saw Hermione.

"Granger," he began. "What the_ hell_ is your problem?" sitting up, he rubbed the back of his head, where he had smacked it rather smartly on the floor. "You PMS-ing or something? Damn, Granger—I think you may have killed me."

"No, I haven't, but I might," she muttered, and, turning away from him, sat back down in the seat she had occupied when he had entered the library. With a calm face, an expression it looked like she had to fight to keep, she looked across the table at him. "Malfoy— why do you have to come in here and start bothering everybody within a mile's radius? What do you want?" she asked, and he rolled his eyes.

"Wow, Granger—you're just a peach of a girl. Call me a fucker, or whatever, tip me out of my chair, then be a right little rude prat—it's no wonder the boys are falling all over you." His voice was heavily caustic.

"Oh, I am just _sooo _sorry, Malfoy." She shot back. "Allow me to apologize for my discrepancies."

"Hey, you got something on your lip there. Looks like a whole lot of _sarcasm._" He snorted. "I'd be more careful if I was you, Granger—you're starting to sound like me." Then he leaned his elbow on the table and cupped his chin in his hand. "Actually, never mind—keep it up. I find it rather amusing.

"Piss off." She hissed, and he wagged a finger at her.

"Tsk tsk, what a potty mouth you have there, Granger. Ought to wash it out with soap—such a _rude _girl." He sighed. "Alas, they do not make them like they used to."

He thought he could almost see a muscle jumping in her jaw, and he squelched his grin: God, she was so easy to provoke.

"What. Do you. Want. Malfoy." She gritted out through her clenched teeth, and he waved a hand lazily.

"Oh. Nothing much, nothing much, such a lovely, lovely day…" seeing her hand stealing towards her wand, he sat back in his chair and watched her warily. True, it was all fun and games—until Draco got hexed. Then, it was just a downright bore. Sighing, he decided to stop goading her.

"Fine, fine," he said irritably. "Ruin my fun, why don't you…" reaching into his robes, he pulled out the grey notebook and slid it across the table. She missed catching it, and the book ended up in her lap.

"Your notes." He said, by way of explanation. "You know—the ones you lent me?"

She nodded in silence, opening the book and flipping through the loose-leaf. Draco rolled his eyes.

"It's all there—I didn't steal any of it or whatever; I don't want any Mudblood souvenirs, ok, thanks." She paused, looking over the notes to regard him in silence for a moment, then looked back to her own slanted cursive, leaving him feeling confused and uneasy. There was a strange look on her face as she flipped through the sheaves of paper, and the silence stretching out between them was thick and palpable.

"Thanks." She said, finally, slipping the notes back into the book and closing it. He nodded, casting a sideways glance at the strange look she was giving him.

"Sure—whatever." He stood up. "And, uh, I guess—you know—thanks yourself." His face twisted with a mix of disgust and awkwardness. Hermione looked up at him in confused surprise.

"What?" she asked, startled.

"Thanks," he repeated. "You know—the opposite of please? Or whatever? Thanks? For the notes? God," he made a scoffing noise. "And I thought you were supposed to be oh so smart." He shrugged. "Oh well; I guess you can't believe _everything _you read on the walls in the loo." And, leaving her with that rather stupidly cryptic statement (he had to admit, he _was _really rather proud of it; he was surely the Quip Master), he strode from the library, and to the Great Hall for some lunch.

_Hermione's POV;_

As Draco walked away, Hermione frowned, still rather startled. Had he just said _thank you,_ to _her? _She shook her head, slowly, as if trying to clear it. Glancing towards the library door, making sure that he was really gone, she opened the notebook and flipped through them again. Finding a page crammed sideways and upside-down in the middle of all the notes, she pulled it out, and smoothed it flat onto the top of the table.

It was a doodle paper; little sketches—none of them terribly well-done—crawled over every available blank space of the parchment. Most had been enchanted, so that they moved. She leaned over the paper, the tip of her nose nearly touching it.

There was a Snitch, or what she took to be one; a little circle with doodles to indicate delicate designs, and vague shapes of miniscule, outstretched wings. It was zooming around the head of a very crudely drawn dragon, which was breathing scribble-y flames, but kept missing the little gold ball. There was a little speech bubble emerging from its snout that said 'Rawr'. There was also an arrow pointing towards the dragon, from a word scrawled just under its feet. She squinted, trying to read it, and made out '_me'_. She frowned slightly, and let her eyes roam over the other drawings.

There was a Dementor—or, again, she _thought _that was what it was, looking more like a stick-man wearing a dumpy and ragged sack—saying 'oooooohhhh booo hooo' and floating slowly after a screaming Neville—or a loose blob _labeled _'Neville'. A second Dementor was floating towards Neville from the other end of the paper, saying something that looked like 'No happy for you, potato!' The blob that she assumed to be Neville was trying to jinx the 'Dementors', and missing fantastically.

And, last, there was Harry, going 'ow, ow, ow' over and over as an enormous, vaguely shaped giant stomped on his head, again and again.

Unable to resist a small smile at the silly story of doodles, she began to fold it up again. But something caught her eye. Flattening the paper out again, she squinted at something tiny in the corner. It was someone, a stick man with long, curly hair, holding a book and reading beside a window. _'Granger', _it was labelled, and, as a tall, short-haired stick man appeared up some steps, the little drawing labelled after her threw its book at him. The word _'Draco'_ floated along at the figure's feet. The book hit him in the head, and he tumbled down the stairs and out of sight. A shaky speech bubble issued from the steps, going '_owww._'

Hermione frowned. Then, folding up the sheet of doodles, she tucked it inside her robes, and, scooping up her things, she hurried from the library.

* * *

_A/N: _yes, so we had a little insight into Hermione's POV. Not much given away, is there? I just couldn't resist putting that in there. : ) I hope that, like me, you quite enjoyed Draco's doodles. I thought of it when I remembered the scene in one of the movies where Draco sends Harry a note in potions class in the form of a paper crane. Harry opens it, and there is a picture of him on a broomstick, being hit by lightening during the upcoming Quidditch match between Hufflepuff. : D Just couldn't resist.

So, yes; please review/comment?


	6. Bathroom Humour

_A/N: _The romance _is _coming, I promise; but, y'know, they _hate _each other (sort of), so let me just ease into it, m'kay? ^_^

"_The salt enters the wound; my take… on you is simple… Time, spent waiting offshore; the calm—before the storm. My take… from you is simple (so hear your fear… to hear your fear). You're such a comfortable liar, you're such a comfortable liar, you're such a comfortable liar… so come on… 'cause I said WRONG, you comfortable liar. YOU COMFORTABLE LIAAARRR. LIIIIIAAAAARRRRR." _Listening to some _**Chevelle **_today. God, I love them. None of their songs make any sense though. Those crazy Lofleur brothers! In case you hadn't noticed, the song is called _"Comfortable Liar"._ :D Ok, to the story! I don't own Harry Potter, and I never will!

_CHAPTER SIX: _Bathroom Humour

When Draco next found himself in hell—something he didn't think he would be experiencing _too _soon after his latest stint in the hospital wing—it came in the form of a small, squat witch with dirt smeared on her face, and Herbology.

"Today, class," Professor Sprout began, waving her hands about in the air to catch their attention. Draco dropped his conversation with Blaise, and turned to her with a deliberately bored air. But it was hard when he was dripping sweat from what felt like every pore; they were in Greenhouse Three, and the sun beaming in through the glass panes of the roof was almost unendurable.

He hid his discomfort behind a sneer, occasionally pulling at the collar of his robes when he was certain that no one was looking. On one such occasion, as the class was called to order, he caught Hermione's eye, and she gave him a sideways look. Shooting her a glare, he promptly gave her the proverbial 'cold shoulder' from across the Greenhouse, and tuned into what the Herbology teacher was saying.

"…so I will be putting you all into partner groups. Any questions?"

_Yeah,_ thought Draco. _What the hell are we doing?_

But, as he looked around, he saw that everyone was nodding. He scowled; he couldn't ask if even _Crabbe _and _Goyle _seemed to understand. Snorting, he closed his eyes and leaned back on his arms, letting his mind drift.

"…Malfoy."

"Huh?" he muttered, sitting up abruptly, broken from his daze. He looked around in confusion. Everyone seemed to be in small groups or pairs, except for him. "Uh—"he began, then almost yelled when someone slammed a seemingly empty plant pot violently down in front of him. He looked up and saw Ron Weasley.

"Oh, joy," he drawled. "And do I get the pleasure of having you as my partner, then, Weasley?"

Ron nodded slowly, his jaw tight and angry. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Oh, _joy,_" he repeated. He looked up again as Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom walked over to join them. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head as Neville began handing out gloves. He held a pair out to Draco, but the blonde-haired Slytherin just stared at him.

"_Nooo way,_" he suddenly burst out. Neville, startled, backed away, dropping the gloves in Draco's lap. The Slytherin sat up. "Are you _serious? Are you serious?!"_ he looked around almost helplessly, finally catching Professor Sprout's eye. "You stuck me in a group of _Gryffindors? _Is this your idea of a _joke?_" She looked at him wryly.

"Mr. Malfoy—"she began. "I expect you to get your work done—_and _pay attention in class." She added, then scooted away to help a boy who had just slipped and fell into a pot of some kind of tubers.

Draco sighed. "So I'm being punished." He stated. Sighing again, he picked up the gloves Longbottom had dropped in his lap and slid them on over his hands. "Oh, joy." He muttered again.

* * *

At the end of class, when everyone's faces were smudged with dirt, and their skin was tattooed with scratches from the thorny plants they'd been handling, Professor Sprout called them all to attention again.

"Remember; I expect you to complete the extra project over the next two weeks; everyone who wishes to pass will have it into to me by that date! Dismissed, and have a lovely day!"

Draco, frowning, leaned over to the person closest to him—Hermione.

"_Psssst_," he hissed. "Hey, Granger!" when she looked over at him, her expression wary, he asked; "What the _hell _is this _'extra project'_?" she rolled her eyes.

"_Honestly,_ Malfoy—do you ever actually_ pay attention _in class?"

"Obviously not." He said bluntly and coldly, receiving another eye roll.

"You have to—with your group, that's us—"she indicated herself, Ron, and Neville.

"Yeah, I figured that much out," he interrupted drily, but she ignored him and continued.

"—you have to gather samples of plants from around and at the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Look them up, label them, and map their growth periods and so forth." She picked up her school bag from the floor, and, swinging it over her shoulder, began to wipe off tracks of mud from her robes. Draco watched her idly.

"Right up your alley, then, isn't it, Granger?" he drawled, and she looked up in confusion. "Always with your nose stuck inside some huge dusty book. So I guess I have to collect this plant shit with you, the Weasel, and good 'ol Wonderblunder Longbottom, huh?" She nodded, her mouth a thin, tight line. But his eyes were on her hands, still trying to clean off her front. He indicated the action.

"Why bother?" he said, and there was no cruelty in his tone—just matter-of-fact plainness. "It won't make you any cleaner—you'll always be a filthy little Mudblood."

Just before the end of his sentence, the Greenhouse had gone silent, and the last word rang out clearly. A few people looked shocked, some angry, but some—mostly Slytherins—smirked. Professor Sprout, however, did not look pleased.

"I will not tolerate that language, Mr. Malfoy." She said coldly. "Do not use that word in my class again. Now, everyone, go, or you'll be late for your next class."

"Well, _technically_," Draco began mockingly. "It's not a _classroom—_it's a _greenhouse,_"

"GET OUT!" she snapped at him, and everyone bolted, out into the sunshine.

"Jesus, what a _spaz." _Blaise complained. He was walking in step with Draco, his arms folded behind his head. His eyes were half-closed, and, on the outside, he'd almost looked agreeable, until he'd opened his mouth. Draco frowned.

"What the hell is a 'spaz'?" he demanded.

Blaise shrugged, an amiable half-smile on his face. "Something I heard some Muggle say—it means 'freak out'; for a person who overreacts about _everything._" Draco nodded.

"Oh, so, like Professor Sprout, then." He glared at the ground. "Bloody whore." He muttered. Beside him, Blaise was yawning.

"Yeah." He replied. "It's hot." He tilted his head slightly back and squinted at the sun. "Glad we don't have to use sunblock." Draco shot him a sharp look.

"Sun—what?" he demanded.

"It's a Muggle thing." Blaise began, but Draco held up a hand.

"Zabini," he said. "You spend _way_ too much time listening to Muggles' conversations. Seriously—get a life, you creepy Muggle stalker."

Beside him, Blaise just grinned.

"Why, Draco—that might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me. _Ever_." He emphasized. "Are you sick or something?" he reached out a hand, jokingly, as if to feel the blonde Slytherin's forehead for fever. Draco swatted his hand away. "Ooh, are you cranky?" Blaise said in a stupidly, ridiculously high voice.

"Shut up."

"Ah, there we go—_there's_ the Draco I know and—well, there's the Draco I _know_." He smirked. "Love? Well, definitely not—"

"Zabini?"

"Yeah, Malfoy?"

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?"

Blaise grinned. "I dunno—did you? Maybe?"

"_Shut. Up_."

Blaise gave him a mocking half salute. "Aye aye, captain." He said; it was obviously a reference to _something_. Not understanding, Draco chose to ignore it.

"I'm not even going to ask," he mumbled, and picked up the pace towards the castle. Behind him, Blaise cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled something. It came out muffled, but Draco could have _sworn_ he heard something along the lines of 'wanker'.

Not too hard to figure out what _that _was.

* * *

When Draco left Transfiguration, he was almost bowled over by someone who burst out of the classroom behind him, slamming into his shoulder from the back. Catching his balance against the wall with one hand, he reached out to grab the assaulter with the other. Hooking them by the collar of their robes, he yanked, and they spun around.

"Hey!" he began. "What the hell do you think you're—"he paused, staring at the girl he had hold of—Hermione Granger—and at the blood leaking freely from her nose.

"What the—"he muttered. "You get in a fight, Granger?"

She stared at him, her eyes red and swollen, as her nose continued to bleed. Then, as if coming from a daze, she shook her head (splattering him with small drops of red), and pulled her arm away.

"I—I'm fine," she snapped (her voice muffled as she clapped a hand over her nose), and, turning, she bolted.

"What the—"Draco muttered again. Raising his voice, he said; "That's _not _fine, Granger! When your nose looks like someone turned on a ketchup fountain full-blast, that is not _fine!_" he didn't know if she heard him or not; if she did, she gave no indication. She just continued to run down the hall, and around the corner.

Draco sighed, and, running a hand through his fine hair, looked around the halls. They were emptying quickly now; the next class was starting soon. He hesitated, debating silently with himself, then growled. A first year passing nearby shot him a scared look, and scampered off.

"Fine." He said aloud. "_Fine!_" he turned and started walking the way Granger had bolted. "_FINE,_ I'll go after her. Damn friggin' conscience!"

A group of second years watched him go, frowning at each other and exchanging glances.

After wandering along Hermione's tracks, he found a spot of blood outside a door. When he looked up, he frowned. He was outside the boy's bathroom. Still frowning, he pushed open the door and went inside.

"Granger?" he called, hesitant. "Are you in here?" not that she would be, it was the _guy's _bathroom, after all, what was he thinking? Blood outside the door or not, she must have gone past, maybe around the corner… he turned to leave, when a soft snuffling made him freeze. Frowning, he leaned around the sinks and peered around the corner, towards the toilets. Nothing. His eyes narrowed, he crept across the cold tiled floor, towards the cubicles. After a second of hesitation, he pushed the closest stall door open.

"Well, there you are, Granger."

She looked up at the sound of his voice. Perched on the toilet seat, her arms wrapped tight around her waist, she stared at him. There was a wad of toilet paper up her nose, the blood dying it red already dark and drying.

"M—Malfoy?" she stammered, and she sounded horrified.

"Jeez, Granger; you're quite a sight. Not for sore eyes, though," he squinted at her. "Rather, for _making _eyes sore…" she stood up, scrabbling off of the toilet seat.

"I'm really not in the mood for your… what are you doing in here anyways?" she snapped, and, pushing past him, she walked towards the mirror.

"_Well,_" he drawled, following her lazily to the sink. "I really should be asking _you _that, shouldn't I?" she turned her head towards him, her eyes red and swollen.

"What?"

He shook his head, faking a sad exasperation. "_Honestly,_ Granger," he said, adopting and mimicking her tone of condescending vexation. "This _is _the _boy's bathroom_." He raised an eyebrow. "Society would, after all, dictate that _I_ clearly have more right than _you_ to be in here." He stretched, pulling his arms up above his head until his back cracked. Sighing, he rested his hands on the counter, long fingers gripping the cold porcelain. He glanced sideways, and saw that she was staring at him with something akin to horror.

"Oh—bloody _hell_." She swore, and he raised his eyebrows.

"Whoa, Granger—watch it. My virgin ears can't take your potty mouth." She snorted, looking into the mirror again.

"Balls to your ears, Malfoy; I really couldn't care less." She dabbed at her eyes and face with water, washing away the dried red smears under her nose. "I look horrible." She muttered under her breath.

"Yep." Draco agreed. She turned and glowered at him.

"I wasn't talking to _you_, Malfoy," she snapped. He just grinned cockily.

"If you don't want me to answer you, Granger, then shut up."

She snorted, and turned away from him. "Whatever. I'm just going to go now." She took a step away, but Draco, following some urge he didn't understand, suddenly didn't think she should leave. His hand shot out; he caught her by the wrist and, pulling her back, pushed her against the sink. He put his hands on either side of her, gripping the cold marble counter, and narrowed his eyes. She stared at him, her face twisted with shock—and fear?

"Malfoy—what the hell are you—?" he clapped a hand over her mouth, the other still gripping the sink.

"Why do you hate me, Granger?" he blurted, then frowned. Why was he asking this? He heard himself continue. "Why can't you ever just… oh, bollocks, I don't even know." She tried to edge away, but he slammed the hand that was over her mouth back down on the counter, pinning her between his arms. Between him and the sinks.

"Malfoy—" she began, but whatever she had been about to say was interrupted by the sound of the door, swinging open loudly. There was a scuffle of feet over the stone floor, and Harry and Ron burst onto the scene. They stared at Hermione and Draco, their eyes wide and confused.

"What—what are you two doing?" Harry asked, looking back and forth between the two.

"Um," said Ron.

Draco released the sink and pushed away from Hermione. She leaned weakly against the counter, looking dazed. Without a word, Draco turned his back on her. He bumped shoulders hard with Ron and Harry on his way out, and then he was gone.

Review and comment, please? : D And, yeah, sorry this took so long to post… I've been WAAYYY busy. But it's a longish post, so, thar. ;)


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